


Unexpectedly, Cadiz

by livingforazirowley



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: A little bit of angst, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Human, Boys Kissing, Cadiz, Crowley speaks Spanish, Crowley's Bad Driving (Good Omens), Food, Happy Ending, Homophobia, Idiots, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Kissing, Lots of references about local culture, Lots of wine, M/M, Number of chapters may slightly change, Pining, Slow Burn, Spain, Summer Vacation, Summery vibes, Theatre, Weekly Updates, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:20:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25531978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livingforazirowley/pseuds/livingforazirowley
Summary: Aziraphale Fell and Anthony J Crowley, two complete strangers, are given the keys to the same hotel room. After that is sorted out, they seem to keep running into each other. Next thing they know, it's not fate that draws them together but them and their unexpected feelings.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 145
Kudos: 124





	1. Thursday

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is a purely self indulgent fic. The main reason why it's set in Cadiz, of all places, is that I hold it dearly to my heart and I'd love to share a bit of it with this amazing fandom. Anyway, I just hope I can depict an ounce of its beauty. Please enjoy!

Aziraphale woke up sweating and panting.

He swallowed and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. It had been a nightmare, one of those where no matter how hard you try to run, you just don’t move an inch. He was going to miss his flight. 

He looked at the clock. Still an hour until the alarm would go off. He sighed, ran his hands over his face and got up, thinking there was no point in trying to go back to sleep. He could use that additional time to check that he had packed everything he might be needing for the trip.

Aziraphale was a meticulous person. Even though any normal person would have classified his home as cluttered and chaotic, he always knew where everything was. This also applied to his bookshop, right below his flat and just as cluttered and chaotic. However, he refused to change that. Why would he? After all, the shop had been doing quite well for a few years now.

However, the bookshop’s success had resulted in piling amounts of tasks to do that had had him working late nights for months in a row. It had been almost five years since he had last gone on holiday, but he hadn’t minded. After all, he loved his job as a bookshop clerk and business was going quite well. That’s exactly why, Anathema had said, it was about time he took a break from work. Aziraphale, however, had been reluctant. He wasn’t necessarily the travelling type and what was he going to do anyway all by himself, read and eat? He could do that perfectly well from his home.

Anathema didn’t give up. Instead, she started sending Aziraphale links to potential destinations. Somewhere to take him out of his routine but comfortable enough: sunny places, with nice food and ancient streets, all within a short flight from London. Aziraphale had tutted at them at first, pretending to be annoyed, then started to click on the pictures showing local delicacies and finally considering if they were something he could afford.

In the end, Anathema had made the decision for him: Southern Spain, Cadiz to be specific. Yes, alright, it had been the birthplace of the Inquisition, which was not particularly nice. But a good friend of hers had been there just a few months ago and hadn’t been able to stop talking about it since they had set foot back in England. As Anathema had put it, it was a safe bet.

Safe bet or not, Aziraphale used that extra hour to ensure he had packed everything he needed. Namely, the four books he had selected (one set in Cadiz, one classic, one modern classic and one romantic novel), all his summer clothes (which weren’t an awfully many and most of them had been recently acquired), generous amounts of sunscreen, the cute floppy hat Anathema had bought for him, his sandals (bought at a farmer’s market a few years ago and never used), a new beach towel, a fanny pack, his toiletries, an umbrella (there is no way it wasn’t going to rain in _eleven_ days) and his tartan pyjamas. He had also packed a small first aid kit - better be safe than sorry.

In contrast with their surroundings, everything looked perfectly folded and neat in the suitcase. Pleased with the result, Aziraphale closed it. Then, gloomily - and quite theatrically -, Aziraphale approached the door to his bookshop and hung up a sign apologising for his temporary absence. He realised he needed some rest, but he was going to miss his home.

After a tedious ride in the tube, several queues at the airport, a few hours visiting the shops (and maybe buying a couple of books, just in case), four hours uncomfortably sitting in the plane, and a few other queues at another airport, Aziraphale had arrived. Not to Spain yet, mind you, but to Gibraltar. 

The sun was shining mercilessly, almost like it wanted to make the Mediterranean boil, filling the air with humidity and the smell of the sea.

Aziraphale put on the floppy hat Anathema had given to him in an attempt to protect himself from the light and looked for his name. There was a whole crowd of drivers waiting for passengers, each one of them holding a sign with a British name written on it. He spotted his own name and exchanged pleasantries with the man who would be driving him to his hotel.

White buildings, locals going about their businesses and tourists carrying their parasols to the beach went past his window. Soon, they were replaced with the motorway, the sea at their left side and olive trees and sunflowers fields to their right. It was all rather… picturesque. Aziraphale decided he liked it.

The sun was starting to set as they arrived at their destination. Just like the towns they had gone by, Cadiz was almost entirely made of white buildings and narrow streets. It was surrounded by the sea, almost an island naturally connected to land by a precarious strand of sand and artificially by a bridge and a road. It was so different from the concept Aziraphale had of a city: no broad avenues, no tube, no hurried pedestrians, no unmanageable distances.

Barely fifteen minutes after they had entered the city, the driver was already handing Aziraphale his luggage in front of the hotel, a small palace that had been reconverted to host up to twenty guests. The doors were open and Aziraphale stepped into the coolness of the patio inside, carrying his luggage with him. It was all made of white marble, intricate patterned ceramics and white walls. The potted plants helped fight the heat and, here and there, wicker armchairs and coffee tables completed the lobby.

Feeling the long day taking its toll on him, Aziraphale quickly checked in before hurrying to his room to get some rest. He was already dreaming of the room service he would order, even though he could perfectly picture Anathema scolding him for not going to explore the city and having some fun. But that was the point of all of it, resting.

The room was nice and clean, decorated in the local style – white walls, ceramics for decoration and colourful furniture. It didn’t have great views, but Aziraphale didn’t mind. It looked nice and cozy.

Freshly showered, luggage unpacked and stomach filled, Aziraphale made himself comfortable on the bed and started reading one of the books he had bought at the airport. The cool breeze came in from the balcony, moving the curtains with it, and the rhythmic sound of the waves crashing on the beach lullabied Aziraphale to the point he was no longer reading despite holding the book in front of his eyes.

Suddenly, the door to his room opened, taking him out of the sweet drowsiness he was in. Not missing a beat, he got up and looked around, not knowing what to do. There were angry groans and growls, some swearing and a suitcase being bullied around. Someone had opened the door and was clearly struggling to get into his room.

Out of pure instinct, Aziraphale grabbed the book and held it up like a weapon, ready to smack the intruder as soon as they were within reach. He looked at himself in the mirror in front of him, tartan pyjamas, reading glasses and holding a book.

“What in the name of-?!” the trespasser said before Aziraphale could reconsider his current appearance.

“Hello,” Aziraphale mumbled, putting the book down and being painfully conscious of how fiercely he was blushing.

It was a slim man wearing tight black jeans, a tight black shirt and a pair of sunglasses. Another trespasser, a kind that was in his mind telling him things in the least expected moments, remarked that it was a handsome man. Aziraphale shook his head.

“Just what I needed right now!” the stranger howled.

“Excuse me?” Aziraphale replied, internally shushing the sneaky thoughts he was having about the man’s red hair. “I was here, peacefully reading, when you invaded my room like you were a crash of rhinoceroses!” he retorted.

“ _Your_ room? You mean _my_ room. 307,” the man answered as he pulled out the little cardboard where the hotel receptionist had written the room number and the Wifi password.

“307?” Aziraphale repeated and took a step forward to better see the handwritten number. “It does say 307,” he confirmed. “Perhaps I am the one in the wrong room?” he said, feeling it was too late in the day to be this confused. He took his own cardboard from the nightstand, where he had left it. It also read 307. “It seems that there has been some type of mistake,” he finally said, frowning, and showed it to the rude intruder.

He groaned and threw his arms around, angry at the world, before running his hand through his (gorgeous) red hair.

“Perhaps it would be best if we go to the hotel reception and clear this misunderstanding,” Aziraphale politely suggested, “just give me a moment so I can change my clothes into something more… adequate. You can leave your luggage here in the meantime if you like,” he offered.

“Nah, it’s fine…” the man dismissed Aziraphale’s suggestion with a tired hand gesture. “I’ll just go downstairs and probably sue them,” he added as he rubbed his eyes under the sunglasses.

“Oh, I don’t think we need to go that far. I’m sure we can sort this out some other way,” Aziraphale said, concerned about what this stranger may do.

“I was joking,” he answered, as if it had been obvious.

“I see,” Aziraphale said. “Well, off you go, then…”

“Anthony. Anthony Crowley.”

“Anthony. Nice to meet you, I’m Aziraphale,” he said as they shook hands.

“See you around, I guess,” Anthony took his luggage and sauntered towards the door. “Nice pyjamas, by the way,” he said over his shoulder with a lopsided smile as the door closed behind him. 


	2. Friday

Anthony J Crowley was dreaming of drinking sake on a rainy day when he was violently woken up by his phone alarm. He patted the nightstand trying to turn off the hellish device. Eventually, and not because he had hit the right button, the noise stopped. He was tired and sleepy, and in desperate need for a good cup of coffee. He slithered out of bed and took a warm shower before going downstairs for breakfast.

Ignoring the endless trays of what other people might have called mouth-watering food, Anthony went straight to the nearest waiter and ordered a black coffee. He then sat at the furthest table available, one by the window, and waited, checking his phone for any urgent emails. 

Before he knew, the cup of coffee was placed in front of him. Without tearing his eyes from the screen, he took the cup to his mouth. Just as the first few drops of the drink touched his tongue, a loud hiss escaped his throat. Anthony stood up and looked around for a glass of water, sticking his tongue out and fanning it with his hand like it would do something to ease the stinging pain.

He heard a small giggle behind him. 

Slowly, Anthony turned his head around to find the room thief he had met the previous night trying, and comically failing, to hide behind a book. He was sure it was him, he could see his blonde curls sticking above the pages. Anthony kept staring, arms folded, until the other man thought it was safe to pull the book down only to find Anthony looking at him with an arched brow. 

The man (Aziraphale, Anthony reminded himself), blushed and quickly hid again behind the book. Anthony caught himself smiling, so he did the only reasonable thing. He frowned, sat down and started sipping very carefully on his coffee while staring out the window, his back to the blushing man.

As soon as he finished his coffee, Anthony went to his room to collect his laptop before heading to the first meeting he had planned for the upcoming week. He was not looking forward to it, but his boss had been clear.

“Is it really necessary?” Anthony had asked as soon as Bell had explained to him he would need to go to Spain for a few meetings with different wine cellars.

“Of course it is, Anthony. I need someone who will check the quality of the product  _ and  _ obtain a good bargain,” they had answered.

“Yeah, but why me?” he had insisted, not feeling comfortable with the idea of spending an entire week abroad. This was not in his job description. 

“Because,” they had said as they circled the desk to pat Anthony on the shoulder, “you are a wine enthusiast, of sorts anyway, and a good negotiator. Plus, you speak Spanish, don’t you?” they had added, almost daring Anthony to deny it. “All those louts over there,” they had gestured outside the office, where Anthony’s colleagues were sitting and idly typing on their computers, “don’t even know what taste buds are.”

Bell was a businessperson, opening and closing restaurants every five minutes as trends came and went. Their latest idea - an Andalusian wine bar serving cheese, canned goods and cold meats - was set to be a success, or so they had said. It would be exotic and refined, there would be wine and products that wouldn’t go bad quickly, making it the easiest thing to manage. It was a business guaranteed to thrive, to the degree that Bell had no need to personally check the product.

So they had sent Anthony.

Alright, yes, he knew a bit about wines (mostly, whether he liked them or not), but surely someone else would have been happier to go to this ridiculously small city in the South of one of the hottest regions in the entirety of Europe. And not in the cool, trendy sense of the word. Not that he minded the heat per se, but he liked his rainy London weather.

Anthony typed the address on his phone and started following the directions. The morning was pleasant, not hot yet but promising to be soon, and he could smell the salt of the ocean in the air. Now and then, when the cars decided to rest all at once by the divine intervention of traffic lights, he could even hear the ocean waves in the distance.

Just five minutes later, he arrived at his destination. It was a small building, smaller than the hotel he was staying at and probably older, although it looked renovated. He looked at his watch. He was right on time, so he entered to find a small hall with a receptionist, who instructed him to take a seat and wait while she informed Ms. Reyes that he had arrived.

*

They had been at it for too many hours. The sun was already setting, filling the room with an orange glow, and he had tried one too many wines. He felt dizzy.

It had been clear to him from the beginning that they were trying to get him drunk and lure him into a cheap agreement. Anthony had managed to refuse the offer for the most part of the morning, but when the catered food had arrived, they insisted he tried their most popular wines. You should know what you are buying, they had said.

Politely enough, Anthony had started taking small sips as he forced himself to eat. At least, the deep fried fish helped soak up the alcohol. After that, already almost five in the afternoon, they had offered him some coffee. Anthony had gladly accepted it, wishing they would get back to business. 

Little did he know they would then offer spirits. Despite Anthony’s pitiful refusals, they had served him a whiskey on the rocks and bullied him into drinking it.

By the end of the evening, when Anthony’s only thought was “do not sign, under any circumstances, anything they give you” on repeat, they had let him go. He went outside, thankful for the cool sea breeze and angry at such a waste of time.

He started walking, or zigzagging, without a destination. The city wasn’t too big to get properly lost anyway and he was too pissed - in both meanings of the word - to just head straight back to the hotel. Soon enough, he reached the city centre and wandered along the sinuous streets. His shoes clicked against the cobblestones as he walked. 

These morons had made him lose a precious day of work. At least they had paid for the drinks and, in his modest opinion, the wines hadn’t been too bad. But that wasn’t the point. The point was that he could have been drinking other wines, wines that he would have personally chosen, and pairing them with some other personally chosen wines instead of the heavy fried fish. Anthony’s stomach grumbled, struggling to digest it.

And he still had a week to go.

Plus, the humidity! This wasn’t doing any good to his hair. Alright, London was humid too, but not  _ as  _ humid. And definitely not as hot. It wasn’t even summer, for somebody’s sake! Yet, his shirt and blazer were enough for him to be in the street at night and still be thankful for the cool breeze.

Eventually, Anthony reached the hotel. At least these people knew something about architecture. 

He went for the lift. The doors were already closing, so he took a jump forward just in time to keep them from shutting on his face. As if they had taken insult from Anthony’s actions, they slowly reopened just to reveal that blond man from room 307. He ran his hands through his hair and, without saying anything, Anthony entered and pressed the button for the third floor. 

“Good evening,” the man said. Anthony turned around, raising an eyebrow. He was not in the mood. “I would like to…” the blond one wriggled his hands before continuing “well, apologise for laughing this morning at your little accident with your coffee. I really wasn’t, I’m not the one to laugh at other people, I was amused by your reaction. Not that it was funny either-” he stopped talking, interrupted by the ding announcing they had arrived at their floor. 

“After you,” he said, and Anthony exited the lift, already heading to his room. “Excuse me!” Anthony stopped and turned around once more. The man - Aziraphale, Anthony reminded himself for the second time that day - was standing there, wriggling his hands. He was slightly sunburnt, which gave him the appearance of being on a constant light blush (a passerby may have thought he was actually blushing, but Anthony noticed this was not the case as the man started to get even redder as he spoke) and wearing a ridiculous flower print shirt, khaki trousers and - where those sandals with socks? Anthony was glad he was still wearing his sunglasses, they may hide how amused - and slightly offended - he was by the look.

“Excuse me,” he repeated. “I just wanted to apologise about last night’s little room mix up as well,” he kept playing with his own hands.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Anthony simply answered, shrugging it off.

“I guess it wasn’t, thank you,” he answered. “It has been bothering me,” Aziraphale drew the littlest of smiles, wished him a good night and went to his room. Anthony watched him go, fighting the smile that was curving his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you're enjoying it <3
> 
> Thank you to my lovely betas, @ineffablepotato, @bestomens and @gingerlizzard. This would be so much worse - or not even be at all - without them.
> 
> Next chapter, in two weeks time - with no delays like this time, I promise!


	3. Saturday

Aziraphale stepped outside the hotel, carrying his fanny pack, a map of the city with landmarks and routes highlighted that the receptionist had handed him, and his notebook, ready to continue exploring the city.

It was his second day in Cadiz and he was already falling in love with the city. The narrow streets, packed with tourists and locals, the little shops, cafés and restaurants, the sea never further than a ten minutes walk, the blossoming orange trees...It all made Aziraphale feel like he really was on holiday.

After visiting the Tavira Tower, from where he was able to see the entire city, the closest towns and a glimpse of Africa, he sat down at one of the terraces and ordered a sangría. 

Following a tradition he had started with his mum when he was just a kid, he pulled out his notebook to write about his holidays. The places he had visited so far, what he liked, the mishaps and his expectations. Travelling by himself as he was, he had thought it could be a good alternative to chatting with a companion.

However, words were evading him. 

More accurately, his thoughts were betraying him. Cadiz was not in his mind. Neither were its people or its food or anything like that. Instead, Aziraphale’s brain insisted on replaying the little giggle that had slipped from his mouth the day before. It had been childish, he had been well aware of that at the moment, which resulted in him trying to hide behind the book he had been reading at the moment. Another perfectly mature thing to do.

It had haunted him all day, not letting him enjoy himself whenever he sat and tried to write. He was worried he had hurt Anthony’s feelings. Granted, he looked like a self-assured man, but it wouldn’t hurt to apologise. 

So he had apologised and it had seemed that, as he had anticipated, Anthony had not given it a thought. He had dismissed it and so Aziraphale was free to move on with his holidays.

Except he wasn’t.

When Aziraphale had gotten to breakfast that morning, he had caught himself hoping he would run into him there. He had felt stupidly disappointed not to see Anthony. Even if he had been there, what would have he said to him? It’s not like they had anything whatsoever in common, except having been handed the keys to the same room.

Aziraphale sipped on his sangría, trying to focus on something else about the trip he could write about. He tapped the notebook with his pencil, looking at the square set in front of him, looking for inspiration.

The heat was starting to become unbearable, which made him uncomfortably sweaty. How could Anthony be dressed all in black and survive the day? 

Alright, that was enough. He closed the notebook, had a quick lunch and went back to the hotel. He needed some proper rest and distraction. A book by the swimming pool seemed like the perfect thing to do.

Just as he stepped out of the lift at the top floor, the heat and the beaming sun hit him right square in the face, making him squint and pull the hat brim down on instinct. He blinked, trying to get used to the clarity once again.

It wasn’t anything like those luxury hotels he had seen in magazines. It was rather small, if he was being honest, but that only added to the intimacy of it. The hotel guests were shielded from the adjacent buildings by lots of plants and sun umbrellas, which also helped battle the relentless, shining sun, and Aziraphale was grateful for that.

Aziraphale walked towards one of the loungers placed beside the pool. He left there his book and his towel. Right at the opposite side of the swimming pool, there was a small bar with a few stools. To his right, the sun shone over the city. From where he was standing, Aziraphale could see the cathedral and, behind it, the sea. 

Anathema had chosen well. Aziraphale made a note to thank her for everything once again.

Before making himself comfortable on the lounger, he headed to the bar and ordered another sangría.

*

It had become unbearable.

Aziraphale had been sitting there for barely twenty minutes and he was already sweating, uselessly fanning himself with a napkin and trying to sip the remnants of the sangría in search for a bit of coolness. Instead of reading and relaxing, he had been eyeing the water in front of him, not paying attention to the pages before him. It was futile.

Eventually, he gave up. He took off his hat and started unbuttoning his shirt, getting ready to have a quick bathe when something, or someone, caught his attention out of the corner of his eye.

He halted, his hands hovering over a half unbuttoned shirt, as he watched the distinguishable red hair and careless gait. As if Aziraphale had yelled his thoughts, Anthony turned his head to look right at him. Aziraphale blushed and frantically started buttoning up his shirt. The man smiled at him from where he was standing and waved a hand with a lopsided smile.

“H- hello,” Aziraphale managed to mouth, and waved back.

He sat again on the lounger, no longer feeling hot because of the weather.

If reading had been an arduous task before, now it had become a titanic one. More than reading, he was hiding once again behind his book.

“Focus, Aziraphale, he’s none of your business,” he kept repeating to himself whenever he found himself drifting away from the pages, distracted, and repressing his primal instinct to keep fanning himself with the useless napkin.

Ultimately, Aziraphale had no choice than to go to the bar and order another drink - swimming was not an option anymore - despite the fact that Anthony was sitting there long after he had finished the sandwich he had ordered. Not that Aziraphale had been paying attention to that.

Aziraphale approached the bar, trying to act aloof, and took one of the laminated menus listing all the beverages and snacks. He tried to focus on the words in front of him, but they refused to make any sense. He frowned.

“I’d recommend the _agua de Sevilla_.”

Aziraphale looked to his left.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” he said.

“I said, I’d recommend the _agua de Sevilla_. It’s quite refreshing, pineapple-y. Typical from the area, I hear,” Anthony repeated, pointing at the picture of the drink in the menu Aziraphale was holding.

“Oh,” he managed. “Pineapple juice, cava, cointreau, whiskey, and a touch of orange blossom water,” he read. “It does sound delightful, thank you,” Aziraphale said in all honesty. He smiled and put the menu aside as he called for the waiter. “I’ll have a…” he flushed, having already forgotten the name of the drink.

“Two _aguas de Sevilla_ , please,” Anthony jumped in.

“Yes, quite right,” Aziraphale said, “thank you.”

The barman nodded and started working.

“‘S nothing. Was going to order it anyway,” Anthony shrugged.

“Well, in that case, thank you for the recommendation,” he insisted, tilting his head towards him in a thankful gesture without looking at him.

They fell silent, watching the barman expertly mix the ingredients.

Not being able to help himself, Aziraphale looked out of the corner of his eye at the man sitting to his left. He wondered how he could be wearing a (beautiful) burgundy shirt and very tight black jeans without breaking a sweat while he was fighting the urge to plainly dive into the pool with his clothes on. 

The barman placed the drinks in front of them, interrupting Aziraphale’s train of thought. The cocktails had a beautiful vibrant orange color to them and were adorned with little paper umbrellas. 

“Cheers,” Anthony said, lifting his cup to Aziraphale.

“Cheers,” he replied, and clinked his glass with Anthony’s. “Oh-” he said, just after taking the first sip. “This is utterly ambrosial,” he added, sipping again and humming in delight.

“I’m glad you like it,” Anthony said. Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice that he was smiling, making Aziraphale quite self conscious about his choice of words. 

“Well, yes, sure thing. I wouldn’t have ordered it if I had thought it wasn’t up to my standards,” Aziraphale said, feeling a bit uncomfortable about the whole situation. “Well, thank you, uh…” he stopped himself before saying his name, not entirely sure why.

“Anthony.”

“Right, Anthony,” Aziraphale repeated, as if he didn’t remember his name, as if he hadn’t been remembering it for two days now. “Better get going,” he smiled politely and turned towards his lounger.

“See you around, Aziraphale,” Anthony replied.

*

Anthony entered the lift and pressed the ground floor button.

The blond man had been so entertaining, but he hadn’t been able to help feeling a bit disappointed when he had quickly gone back to reading, ending any chance of conversation with him. As soon as he had finished his drink, Anthony paid the check for both of them and went for a walk.

It was still hot outside, but it was better than staying in his room.

Following his instincts, he entered the first bar he saw and asked for a cup of white wine. Then he went to another bar and asked for another cup, red this time. They served him some cheese that he hadn’t ordered but apparently that’s how they worked. After that, he moved on to a little restaurant that only served seafood and beer. So he had that. And then he saw a nice beach bar where he had another drink. Overall, it was good work research.

Tipsy and not really knowing what time it was - he vaguely remembered the sun setting at some point - he headed back to the hotel. Before he knew it, he was standing in front of the door to room 307.

He raised his hand, as if he were about to knock, unsure about whether it was a good idea or not.

Aziraphale had been polite, that’s all. And had made it clear that he didn’t want to spend time with him drinking cocktails when he had left without saying goodbye. But he had looked flustered when he had waved at him at first. Which could be explained by the ridiculousness of the three interactions they had had at that point.

Of course, all this analysis is pointless when your own hand makes decisions of its own and knocks on the door without your brain’s approval.

Anthony panicked, opened and closed his mouth like a fish. He looked at both sides, searching for some kind of miracle that would tell him what to say when the door opened, how to explain why he had done that.

With a small pang to his chest, he realised it had already been too long without an answer - or any sign of movement from inside the room -. Aziraphale was not in, clearly, or if he was, he was asleep. Anthony slouched a bit, disappointed after all, and turned towards his own room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to m awesome betas @ineffablepotato, @gingerlizzard and @bestomens (you can find them on Twitter)!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this little chapter <3


	4. Sunday

Day 4 (Sunday)

Despite his lifelong ability to soundly sleep through the night, Anthony had spent the last few hours - ever since that damned ray of sun had hit his face, like he was some lame character in a cheap fanfic - in search for a comfortable position and trying to avoid the unrequested thoughts about the pretty blond man sleeping a few rooms away from him. 

Anthony opened and closed his mouth, cursing everything that had led to the existence of hangovers.

He turned around on the bed and covered his face with one of the too many pillows, trying to keep himself from seeing Aziraphale’s face. The image kept coming to mind, teasing him about how annoyingly adorable he was and making Anthony wonder how the man would look like after a soft kiss on the lips.

Of course, this was all just fantasy. His mind playing games. Yes, alright, Aziraphale hadn’t seemed interested in him  _ that  _ way, or any way for that matter. He had made that clear.

But he had seemed friendly, right?

_ Polite _ . He had been  _ polite _ , he reminded himself.

Anthony growled and threw the pillow away, frustrated. This was pointless, all this trip was pointless. If Bell would have listened to him, he could have been at his flat right now, not thinking about some random man and not as hungover. Well, maybe not that last part, but still.

“Excuse me, sir, I’m afraid the restaurant is completely full,” the maitre said as soon as she saw Anthony approach the room.

“I’m sorry?” he asked as a reflex, running his hand over his face. He needed some coffee and he needed it soon. He peeked over the woman’s shoulder to confirm that, in fact, there was not a single table available. There were a few free chairs, however.

“I said, the restaurant is full, sir,” the waiter repeated, drawing an annoying smile. “You could wait in our lobby or order some room service, if you’d like.”

A friendly waving hand inside the room caught Anthony’s eye. He turned to look at the maitre and smiled, always pleased to win.

“It’s alright, I’ll sit with him,” he pointed at Aziraphale, who nodded at the waiter with a polite smile.

“Thank you for saving me there from coffee starvation,” Anthony said as he sat across from Aziraphale.

“Oh, no need to thank me,” he answered, primly cutting a portion of the pastry in front of him. “It’s my pleasure, actually,” he added, before thoroughly chewing and enjoying the sweet bite. Anthony looked at him and then at the other people around. Was he the only one seeing how obscene it was? Surely the moans escaping Aziraphale’s throat weren’t suitable for all ages? Anthony swallowed and looked for a waiter.

“Thank you anyway,” he mumbled, and idly scratched his throat.

“These truly are delicate, I love the honey and the nuts in them,” Aziraphale said long after Crowley had finished his coffee. “You can really see the Moroccan influence,” he added, delicately cleaning his mouth with the cloth napkin before putting it aside as a sign that he was satisfied. It was a nice sight, Anthony thought to himself. It had been a nice breakfast, too, even if conversation had been interrupted a couple of times by an overly polite Aziraphale saying there was no need for Anthony to keep him company.

He was right, there was no need for Anthony to stay there and watch him have breakfast. But it had been so entertaining watching Aziraphale enjoy himself, he wouldn’t have been able to just leave and… what? Work? Staying there and feeling funny things over a silly man wearing a bowtie in 30 degrees weather was far more enjoyable. 

Anthony’s spine suddenly tensed.

Was this him developing a crush? Over a silly man wearing a bowtie in 30 degrees weather?

Anthony mastered all his strength to look back at the weirdly attractive cherub sitting across him. Yes, easily blushing apple cheeks. Alright, fluffy blond curls that look really soft. Bright blue eyes. Or were they green? Beautiful bright eyes, anyway. Strong arms and soft belly, duh. But other than that? Plain old English man. He had plenty of those back at home!

“Well, see you around, I suppose,” Aziraphale said, offering a strong, manicured hand.

“What are you up to today?” Anthony blurted out. He bit his traitorous tongue.

“What am I up to today?” he repeated, as if Anthony had asked the most nonsensical of questions. “Well, a little bit of tourism, I suppose... Nothing fancy. I’d very much like to go to the castle.”

“The castle?” Anthony asked, not sure what he was talking about. Truth be told, he had no idea about the city landmarks.

“That’s right. There is a castle at the end of the breakwater, you can see it from the beach. It’s quite fascinating,” Aziraphale said, moving his eyebrows up in an impressed gesture.

“That sounds… good,” Anthony answered.

“It does, doesn’t it?” Aziraphale smiled. “Would you… uh- would you like to join me?”

“Wh- to the castle?” Anthony asked, panicking. It was going better than expected. “Sure, I can’t see why not,” he added, before Aziraphale could take the offer back.

*

Anthony smiled, watching Aziraphale trying to keep his floppy hat from flying away into the sea from behind his sunglasses.

The wind at the castle entrance was a bit harder than inside the city, where the buildings slowed it down to a summer breeze. 

“Don’t get me wrong, the hat looks… good on you, but wouldn’t it be easier if you just took it off?” Anthony suggested.

“Possibly,” he agreed. “But I do like wearing it. Don’t I look quite nifty in it?”

Anthony bit his tongue before he made one of the cheesy remarks that had come to mind and walked towards the entrance to the castle.

It was an austere building, more a fortress than anything else. No embellishments or decorations, just a big mole of rock guarding the city from potential invaders. There wasn’t much to see besides the stunning sight of the beach and the city. Aziraphale led the way, stopping to read all the signs and then summarising them for Anthony. It was endearing and it gave Anthony the opportunity to study what colour Aziraphale’s eyes were. So far, no conclusive data had been gathered.

The morning went by rather quickly, if you asked Anthony - and probably Aziraphale would have agreed. The castle had been visited, the signs had been read and the sights had been admired.

It had already been about an hour since Anthony had started making potential excuses to keep spending the day together when Aziraphale suggested going for a refreshment of sorts.

“I have been thinking about it since yesterday, to be honest,” Aziraphale said. “I didn’t pay you back for the  _ aigua… agua? _ ”

“The  _ agua de Sevilla _ ? Oh, it was nothing, really. My treat,” Anthony answered.

“That’s very nice of you, Anthony. Really, but… Would you let me buy you a drink? What would you say to some sangria?” Aziraphale’s eyebrows shot up again, this time with a clearly tempting intention that Anthony wasn’t able to resist. Who would have been, anyway?

“Did you know that sangría is mostly a tourist thing?” Anthony said, once they were sitting and having their drinks. Instead of the fruity drink, he had ordered a local white wine, served in a small cup. The sun was up, heating the sand under their feet. A waiter opened the sun umbrella next to their table, giving them some relief from the heat.

“It is?” Aziraphale’s smile dropped for a second. “I thought it was typical Spanish!” he frowned at his drink.

“It technically is, but still… Not the go-to drink for the locals, but as long as you like it…” he shrugged, trying to please Aziraphale.

“I quite like it, if I’m honest, but…” Aziraphale’s brow furrowed. “I’d also like to try the local beverages. The really typical ones, so to speak. Take the chance while I’m here, I suppose,” he stirred his drink, not having tried it yet.

“Are you leaving anytime soon?” Anthony said. “I mean, if you’re not, you still have some time,” he quickly added, feeling he had overstepped with the question.

“Yes, I’m… I’m planning on staying until next Saturday, so yes, plenty of time.”

“Really? So am I!” Anthony couldn’t hide his excitement. 

“What a pleasant coincidence,” Aziraphale replied, stirring his drink and Anthony’s insides.

“Do you want to try this?” Anthony offered, trying to look way more relaxed than he was at the moment. He pushed his cup towards Aziraphale. “If you like it, we can trade drinks. It’s been ages since I last had sangría, anyway,” he added, biting his lip and being thankful he was able to hide behind the sunglasses.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t mind that?” Aziraphale’s eyes brightened, making Anthony feel even funnier inside. Butterflies, nasty little things.

“We don’t even know if you like this  _ manzanilla  _ wine yet, so let’s see if my bluff plays out,” he smiled, trying to make a joke.

“Well, thank you, dear,” Aziraphale said, a tiny smile on his lips that made his cheeks look stunning as he reached forward to give it a try. “Oh,” he eventually said.

“You don’t like it?” 

“I didn’t say that,” Aziraphale answered, studying the cup in his hand. “I could get used to it, but…”

“But you’d rather have the sangría,” Anthony said, smiling. “Well, I guess my bluff did pay off. I was guessing your sweet tooth could play in my favour.”

Aziraphale wiggled on his seat, Anthony observing him from behind his sunglasses but pretending to be watching the sea behind him. The pretty, perky nose, those cheeks that went all kissable whenever he smiled. His stupid fashion taste that could use an update of a few decades, a weirdly alluring mixture of early 1920s college professor and a Renaissance painting of an angel. His obnoxious politeness, which made it almost impossible for Anthony to guess what his intentions were. His hair looked so fluffy it made Anthony’s fingers tickle with a need to run through it. He closed his hands over his knee and tried to come down to Earth.

After a few hours, the combination of the alcohol, the food, the conversation and the warm weather made them feel fuzzy and pleased. It was easy to join the locals at just sitting there and chatting once lunch had already been finished.

Eventually, they left the restaurant and started walking towards the beach. The sun was past its highest point, making it a bearable weather for a stroll. They took their shoes off and walked towards the shore. The water was chilly, making Aziraphale gasp.

“So, may I ask what brought you to Cadiz?” Aziraphale asked.

“Work,” Anthony shrugged, concentrating on the swirls and turns the waves made between his feet.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said. “What kind of work would that be? Perhaps something to do with holiday packages? Is that why you’re here, to assess... the area?” he asked. “I was close to paying for one of those for my own holidays, but I heard they tend to scam their clients. Not that you would do that, of course, I mean - well, work is work, isn’t it?” Anthony turned his attention back to find a blushing Aziraphale.

“Work is work, you’re right,” he agreed, mildly amused. “But no, I don’t work in holiday packages,” he turned to look ahead. “I’m here to find a winery for my boss’s new tapas place.” Anthony could see how Aziraphale’s face lit up.

“A winery? For a new tapas place?” he repeated.

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

“I heard there are fine wineries in the area. Cherry wine happens to be from nearby, if my understanding is correct,” Aziraphale said excitedly, his voice a higher pitch than usual.

“It is, I’m actually heading to the place. Jerez, that is, on Tuesday. Wanna come?” Anthony’s offer slipped out of his mouth. He bit his tongue. Too forward, definitely too forward. “If- if you want to, of course, and have the time. I’d be there for work, anyway, I just thought I could take you there? The company is paying for the car, so-”

“I would love that,” Aziraphale said, beaming. “That’s very nice of you,” he added.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little note to say that the castle Aziraphale and Anthony visit is the Castillo de Santa Catalina (it's not particularly pretty, though hahah).
> 
> As always, endless thank yous to my betas (find them on Twitter @ineffablepotato, @bestomens and @gingerlizzard) and also a lot of thank yous to everyone of you reading this.
> 
> Please feel free to subscribe to the fic or follow me on Twitter (@SouthOmens), to leave a comment or even to leave a kudos - you don't know how happy those make me!
> 
> From now on I'll be posting one chapter a week, as I can officially say that this is no longer a WIP!


	5. Monday

Aziraphale checked his outfit in the mirror one last time: brown brogue shoes, cream dress trousers, linen short sleeved shirt and his rainbow tartan bow tie. The latter gave the outfit the festive touch it needed to match his own mood. The holidays were starting to have a wonderful effect on him he hadn’t thought was possible.

A quick look at his phone told him it was too early for dinner, so he decided it was a good time to call Anathema.

“How was your dance partner?” she asked, as soon as Aziraphale mentioned the sevillanas class he had taken that morning. Of course of all the landmarks he had talked about, the meals he had thought Anathema would have enjoyed - more vegan options that you would think! - and the activities he had planned for the week, she would have asked about the dance partner.

“She was lovely, thank you very much for asking,” he replied. “Very talented, if you must know. She was the teacher, after all.”

“Oh, I see… Too bad,” she replied, not giving it too much importance. “Still, I need you to keep me updated about all your shenanigans and, yes, I mean the romantic ones,” she said. “I get the feeling you might end up having a fling this week!” Aziraphale could almost hear her winking as she said  _ fling _ .

“Anathema, dear, don’t get me wrong, but... are you mayhaps some sort of witch?” Aziraphale said jokingly, already defeated by the fact that he wouldn’t be able to keep it from her in the long run.

Anathema giggled but said nothing, inviting Aziraphale to continue.

“You see… There’s this... gentleman at the hotel,” Aziraphale started, not knowing how to continue.

“A gentleman?” she said, playing innocent.

“Yes, a gentleman,” he replied.

“And what do we know about this... gentleman?” Anathema asked gently.

“His name is Anthony,” Aziraphale said.

“That’s nice… What else?” she spurred. 

“He appears to be British, probably from London,” Aziraphale guessed. “He’s here to find a winery for a new tapas restaurant his boss is opening later this year.”

“That sounds awesome, to be honest,” Anathema said. Aziraphale noticed her voice strained by all her efforts not to be overly excited.

“It would be rather nice if he lived in London, it’s always good to have friends in the City” Aziraphale agreed, emphasising the word  _ friends _ .

“Is he handsome?” Anathema bluntly asked.

“Yes,” Aziraphale bit his tongue.

“Is he available?” she could no longer keep herself contained and, fearing the list of questions she had on the tip of her tongue, Aziraphale stopped her.

“I don’t know!” he said. “We’ve spent some time together, that’s it,” Aziraphale added, more to himself than to his friend. He had had his fair share of romantic disappointments and successes, but none of it stopped him from feeling - and behaving, not that he would ever admit that - like a teenager whenever he had a new crush.

“Oh, but you’ve spent some time together,” the way Anathema said the words Aziraphale had used gave it a completely different meaning. “At least we know he likes you well enough for that,” she insisted. “That’s a good sign!”

“He’s here on his own, just like I am, with no acquaintances to spend his time with. It’s rather likely that he’s just looking for some temporary companionship. Nothing more, Anathema,” he said. “In fact, we were supposed to go tomorrow to Jerez-”

“Oh, that’s where cherry wine comes from!” Anathema interrupted.

“That’s right,” Aziraphale almost lost his train of thought. “The thing is, we haven’t settled the details. So I would assume Anthony has forgotten all about it, and I wouldn’t blame him. He’s here for work, he’s got other matters to attend to.”

“If he’s there for work, I bet he has been working all day and worrying because he hasn’t settled the details with you for tomorrow. The day isn’t over yet, I’ll keep my hopes up for you, but until then, please feel free to tell me more about him,” she said.

Aziraphale talked to her about Anthony’s work, what a local wine connoisseur he was and how he liked his coffee black. He also talked about his lean hands, the gleaming red hair, those damned sunglasses he wore everywhere, the freckles - those freckles -, the unusual tattoo that, in Aziraphale’s not-so-tattoo-enthusiast opinion, suited Anthony really well. Anathema squeaked with every detail, making Aziraphale smile.

Almost an hour had gone by when they realised how late it was. Not before Aziraphale had asked Anathema how she was doing, he went to the restaurant for dinner.

It was almost empty, letting Aziraphale sit at his favourite seat - the one at the far end, right next to the window. It was perfect, as it allowed him to watch people going down the street and also check who came into the restaurant. It was highly entertaining and that was the sole reason. 

He took the menu and started reading it without understanding what it said. Every passerby and every new guest made him jump a bit on his seat. 

This was proper teenager behaviour and Aziraphale wasn’t having that. He grasped the menu and frowned, trying to decide what he was having for dinner.

“Hey there, angel.”

Aziraphale looked up only to find Anthony’s smile.

“Oh- oh, hi, dear,” he finally said, still processing the fact that he had used a pet name for him and then realising he had answered with  _ dear _ . His palms prickled and felt slightly sweaty.

“Care if I join?” Anthony asked, already sitting in front of Aziraphale.

“Of course not, please do,” he offered, pointing at the chair with a sweaty hand.

Unable to think properly, Aziraphale decided on ordering the same he had had the previous night - gazpacho and tuna three ways - but he kept on studying the menu. It was very likely that he would blurt out a question about the trip to Jerez, which was the only clear thought he was having, but he bit his tongue and tried to play it casual. Only when Crowley put his menu down, Aziraphale did the same.

“Do the gentlemen know what they will have?” the waitress asked just a moment later. Aziraphale looked at Anthony, who was already asking for a specific red wine with a very long, complicated name full of rolling rs and the rice with red prawns in a perfect Spanish. Feeling a bit dumb, and flustered by that display of skills, Aziraphale placed his order in English.

“So,” Anthony said once the waitress was gone. “How did the day go?”

“Quite well, I must say,” Aziraphale replied. “I had the chance to visit the cathedral and climb to the dome. It’s really impressive, I’m starting to enjoy the catholic aesthetics,” he said, avoiding the part where he spent the morning trying to dance sevillanas. “What about yours?” he asked.

“It was okay. You know, work,” was the only answer Anthony gave as he leaned back on his seat.

*

Anthony had spent the day working, meeting with a small client he wasn’t ruling out just yet. However, his mind had been somewhere else. He had invited Aziraphale to come to Jerez the next day, yet they hadn’t said what time or where they were meeting.

As a last resort, he knocked on Aziraphale’s door as soon as he had showered and changed clothes. When after a while, and another few knocks, he didn’t hear any answer from the inside, he resolved to just go have dinner and try again later. Of course, he didn’t have to, because Aziraphale was at the restaurant. He felt lucky.

Anthony watched Aziraphale enjoy his dinner while he just… ate his. There were hundreds of things he wanted to tell Aziraphale, and the trip to Jerez was the first one of them. However, he held himself back and waited for a good opportunity to bring the topic up.

“So,” Aziraphale said at some point between dessert and a herbs liquor on the house, primly cleaning his lips with the tablecloth. “Is tomorrow’s offer still on?” Anthony would have sensed a hint of hurt in his voice if it weren’t for his own excitement. 

“I- uh, of course, of course it is. Yeah,” Anthony almost jumped forward. “I mean… If you’re still interested, I take it?”

Anthony observed Aziraphale, who looked back at him for a moment before answering.

“Well, yes, of course I am,” the man said, looking relieved. “It would be very nice of you if you would let me come with you.” 

Aziraphale was smiling. If Anthony had known better, he would have said Aziraphale looked like he was containing an excited wiggle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic would be nothing without my betas, @ineffablepotato, @bestomens and @gingerlizzard (go follow them on Twitter, they're all amazing!)
> 
> Also, a little note on sevillanas for those of you who aren't familiar with it: it's a traditional dance specific of the local fairs (these started as kettle fairs and evolved into the local festivity). It's danced to songs that have one of the 4 types of rhythms, each of them with a specific routine. The dance is similar to flamenco in the type of movements, only it's choreographed, easily learnt, danced in pairs and more fun than passionate. It's nice to watch as the steps play with the traditional flamenco dress frills.
> 
> (I have to take the chance to introduce you to my culture, I won't apologise! But just in case, I'd recommend watching some YT videos so you get a proper grasp of what it looks like).


	6. Tuesday

“Did you seriously rent  _ that _ car?” Aziraphale said, eyebrows on the brim of his hairline. He was surprised, and truth be told, concerned.

The car looked… ancient.

“Yeah, what’s wrong with it?” Anthony said. He looked amused.

“Well, it looks… Outdated in matters of safety equipment,” Aziraphale muttered, wondering if it would even have seatbelts.

“It’s a  _ classic _ ,” Anthony replied, noticeably entertained by Aziraphale’s reaction. However, he added, “it’s passed all the maintenance tests and official requirements, it’s perfectly safe! Plus, I’m a very good driver, so there’s nothing to worry about.” Aziraphale glimpsed a wink, hidden behind sunglasses. He frowned as Anthony got in the car and then followed his lead, even though he wasn’t entirely convinced by Anthony’s reassuring words.

The interior screamed 1980s, almost feeling empty without all the appliances modern cars tend to have. The upholstery was clean and, instead of looking old, it just seemed anachronistic.

Anthony started the car engine, which roared and trembled under Aziraphale’s feet. The radio started playing some local, rather deafening music.

“Is that Spanish bebop?” Aziraphale said, pointing a finger at the radio.

Anthony, who had been maneuvering to move the car out of the parking spot, turned his head and looked at him over the brim of the sunglasses. His eyebrow raised higher than humanly possible.

“Spanish bebop?” his voice was an octave higher than usual. “Spanish bebop?” he repeated.

“Well, I’m not much of a Spanish music devotee,” Aziraphale replied, feeling silly.

“I can see that,” Anthony agreed. “Neither am I, but I gotta say… that’s clearly  _ not bebop _ .”

Aziraphale smiled and, before Anthony could reply, he asked, “Do you know how to drive on the right?” He pointed a doubtful finger at the road.

“I- Oh, well, you know... ” Anthony stuttered, moving his right hand around, “I’m a fast learner, nothing to worry about,” he said, avoiding Aziraphale’s concerned look before joining the traffic. Aziraphale instinctively clasped the door handle. “Listen, Aziraphale…” Anthony said as he stretched out his hand towards Aziraphale’s knee.

“Both hands on the wheel, Anthony!” Aziraphale screeched, scared - whether of Anthony’s hands not being focused on driving or that he was reaching for Aziraphale’s knee, we will never know.

They zoomed through the streets first and the highway soon after, Anthony concentrated on the road before him while Aziraphale feared for their lives.

“So… I booked a guided tour to the winery,” Anthony said as they exited the highway. “I hope you don’t mind, we never really talked about what we were going to do, and I have to meet the potential partners so I thought,”

“That’s very thoughtful of you, Anthony,” Aziraphale let his hand go of the door handle, excited about the prospects. “I’ve always wanted to visit a winery, so thank you very much for taking care of that”.

*

They were standing in a large room with gigantic wine barrels arranged against the walls and smaller ones put vertically here and there to serve as tables. It smelled of aged wood and wine, a strong scent that Aziraphale wished he could take home with him. Aziraphale, Anthony and the rest of the tour group had been enjoying the different wines they had served for them to sample, paired with delicious local tapas. The murmur of the voices and the laughter, combined with the soothing effects of the alcohol and the warmth of a full stomach, had let Aziraphale feel relaxed for the first time that day.

“This was great, thank you very much for organising it,” he said, reaching out to awkwardly pat Anthony on his shoulder. Even if the touch was brief and weird, Aziraphale now knew what touching Anthony’s arm felt like. He pictured themselves strolling down the Caleta beach in Cadiz, perhaps in a couple of years remembering how it all started, their arms intertwined and the sea at their feet.

“My pleasure,” Anthony answered, and took a sip of the white wine. “I’m just glad you enjoyed it,” he added, looking at Aziraphale with a soft smile. 

The cellar had been too dark for Anthony to keep his sunglasses on, and Aziraphale had been grateful for that. Anthony had gorgeous amber eyes that revealed his thoughts more often than not. Feeling as if he was looking at Anthony enough to make him look like a rather odd person, Aziraphale focused on the little  _ papas aliñás  _ left on the plate. 

Perhaps the onion in it was not the best option for Aziraphale’s expectations of the day - not in vain, he had spent the night picturing it to end with a kiss. The invitation and the plan looked like a proper date, if you didn’t take into account the part where Anthony had to work, of course, but that hadn’t stopped him from having many thoughts that he had tried to repress. The way Aziraphale saw it, there was no point in getting his hopes up. Looking at Anthony, all tall and handsome and stylish, it was clear to him that this was purely social.

Now, under the effects of the wine, he felt tempted to be optimistic. Of course, Anthony was definitely out of his area of expertise. However, it would have been a bit of a stretch denying that Anthony wanted to spend time with him. Especially if he was travelling for work, meeting with someone new would have been a nuisance. Had it been Aziraphale, he would have spent his free time reading in the hotel room and trying to get some rest. And not only was Anthony looking for some company during dinner, which would have been a perfectly normal thing to do when travelling alone, but he was actively planning things to do with him. Things involving romantic cellars and wine tasting. Surely that meant  _ something _ .

“So,” Aziraphale said, “is there anybody waiting for you back at home?”

Anthony coughed, choking on the wine.

“Are you alright, dear?” Aziraphale patted him on the back, right between his shoulder blades. His concern was quickly overpowered by how Anthony’s body moved under his palm. Another of last night’s fantasies, this time involving his hands running all over Anthony’s back while they kissed, came to mind.

“It’s- I’m okay,” Anthony said, clearing his throat. “But, uhm, answering your question… No, there isn’t.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale said, not knowing what else to say now.

Anthony put himself back together before suavely asking, “what about you?”

“Nobody either, I’m afraid.”

He took one of the wine glasses on the table - the one containing cherry - and took a slow sip while looking at Anthony with a side glance. The other man was also drinking. Almost like it had been choreographed, they both set their glasses on the table before them and looked at each other before quickly turning to look somewhere else. Aziraphale chose to focus on Anthony’s hands, lean and elegant like the rest of him. His own hands ached wanting to grab them.

“I think I need to sober up,” Anthony said, interrupting Aziraphale’s thoughts. “You know, for the meeting. Work.”

“Quite right,” Aziraphale replied, feeling slightly disappointed. “Maybe we could go for a walk? Try to get it out of your system?”

The afternoon heat forced them to go to a nearby park, where they walked until they found a bench in the shadow of an olive tree. They exchanged phone numbers - something they should have definitely done earlier, Aziraphale thought - and agreed that Anthony would call him as soon as he was done with the meeting. In the meantime, Aziraphale would explore the city and probably also miss him - not that he verbalised that last detail. Shortly after that, they parted ways.

*

Despite the beauty of the citadel and the city centre, the few hours he spent by himself went by very slowly. Aziraphale scolded himself for that. After all, he was here on his own and the idea was to travel around by himself. He had been having a nice time without Anthony’s company the first couple of days, he could manage to do that again. 

At least he could try.

Eventually, when he was sitting on a terrace drinking some more cherry, his phone rang, making him jump. He had set up the tone to maximum volume to make sure he wouldn’t miss the call, which made everyone around jump as well and then stare at him with that “damn tourists” look in their eyes.

“Hello?” he answered.

“Hi, Aziraphale,” Anthony said. “it’s me.”

“Hi, Anthony. How is it… going?” he asked, unsure about what to say without giving away how desperate he was for Anthony’s meeting to end.

“Just okay, you know... work,” Anthony’s reply sounded vague. “Listen, where are you? I’ll go find and meet you,” he added without letting Aziraphale ask anything else about it.

Aziraphale gave him directions as best as he could. Shortly after that, he spotted the now familiar sauntering figure coming towards him. Except this time the saunter had a bit of a zigzag to it. Aziraphale frowned, watching Anthony approach him.

“Hey, angel,” he said. Without missing a beat, Anthony grabbed Aziraphale by the waist and kissed him on the cheek. He smelled of wine.

“Uh- hello.” This was certainly new, but Aziraphale wasn’t sure he was liking it. 

“Ready to go back to Cadiz?” Anthony pointed at the empty cup and the few olives Aziraphale had on his table. Aziraphale watched him reposition his feet, almost like he was struggling to maintain a standing position.

“You’re drunk,” Aziraphale pointed out.

“Just a little tipsy,” Anthony’s voice was defensive, as if Aziraphale’s observation had been an attack.

“Not just a  _ little  _ tipsy, Anthony. You’re clearly in no condition to drive!” Aziraphale said, not knowing how to feel about it. They were supposed to have a pleasant evening, perhaps have dinner together back in Cadiz. After all, the plan had originally been limited to the winery tour. “Sit down and have something to eat, it will help you feel a bit better.”

Anthony growled but obliged while Aziraphale ordered a coffee and two Spanish omelette  _ montaditos _ for Anthony to help him soak up the alcohol.

“Did everything go alright, dear?” Aziraphale asked after a while.

“Yes, it’s just business,” Anthony snapped, clearly annoyed by the question. Taken aback by the response, Aziraphale decided it was best not to push him.

Eventually, Anthony managed to get rid of the alcohol in his system. It was late, but Aziraphale was glad to be going back to the hotel. Anthony had been moody ever since he had returned from the meeting, and Aziraphale had been clueless about how to help him. It had been tense, making Aziraphale second guess any optimistic thought he had had earlier that day. He was worrying so much about it that he barely noticed Anthony’s driving on their way back to Cadiz.

“Listen, Aziraphale…” Anthony started saying once they were at the door of Aziraphale’s hotel room, but didn’t continue.

“You had a bad day at work, I understand that,” Aziraphale offered, trying to be empathetic but feeling emotionally drained at this point. He fiddled with the key, anxious to close the door behind him and have some rest.

Anthony looked at his feet and shrugged, not even looking at Aziraphale.

“Well, I’m sorry about that… I hope tomorrow will be better,” Aziraphale replied, and turned to unlock the door.

Anthony grasped his wrist before he could open it. Aziraphale turned to look at him. It was late and he wasn’t wearing the sunglasses. Instead, Aziraphale could only see a piercing amber gaze directed at him. He shivered with anticipation, forgetting about the uncomfortable car ride and wondering if the moment he had spent the night picturing in his head was about to happen. Without noticing, Aziraphale opened his mouth just enough, looking at Anthony’s beautiful eyes, all surrounded by freckles he just wanted to kiss over and over again. He was just right there, close enough to-

“Good night,” Anthony said at last, withdrawing his hand and going away before Aziraphale could say anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the end of this chapter, but we need the angst and the pining!
> 
> In case you were wondering, the song playing in the car at the beginning is "Cacho a cacho", by Estopa. It has references to driving and, at one point, it says "we don't fucking listen to Heaven's signs", which seems very fitting hahah
> 
> Also, papas aliñás is a typical potato salad (boiled potato, spring onion, parsley, olive oil and cherry vinegar - tuna and boiled egg can be added as well), it's really nice and vegan friendly ^^
> 
> Anyway, I hope you've enjoyed this chapter as well! We're getting close to the end, let's see what happens next.
> 
> Lastly, thank you so much to my betas @ineffablepotato, @gingerlizzard and @j_a_y_c_e_e_ (go check them on Twitter, they're awesome!)


	7. Wednesday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Here we are, approaching the final chapters of the fic - thank you all for coming this far!
> 
> I must mention, however, that the tags have been updated to warn about mention of homophobia because of this chapter, so please feel free to skip it <3

Partly as self-punishment - not that Anthony would ever acknowledge that out loud, not even to his therapist no matter whether he suggested it was the case -, Anthony woke up unholily early. His mouth was dry, the light coming from the lamps was more annoying than usual and his stomach was desperately asking him not to go too far from a toilet.

Damned hangovers, damned Spaniards, damned wine, damned Bell and damned homophobes.

The winery men he had met the day before had turned out to be blatant imbeciles who, as soon as business had started to look bright for them, hadn’t missed a second to start making lewd comments about Aziraphale, always in Spanish and with a smile on their faces, as if Anthony wouldn’t understand them. They had made assumptions about the two of them, it had been obvious to Anthony from the start, but they were too cowardly to say anything to his face.

Two hours of his time - time he could have spent with Aziraphale - completely wasted. Not only that, but he was beyond pissed for very good reasons. For a lack of a better thing to do, he had decided to take advantage of the situation and drink all of the most expensive wines they had.

Poor decision making.

Anthony ran a hand over his face and called room service for a bottle of water and a black coffee - “the biggest mug you’ve got, please”.

Even if those two bastards and their vulgar comments explained how angry he had been, it didn’t excuse how he had handled the rest of the night. He was glad Aziraphale hadn’t had to endure listening to those comments, even if he wouldn’t have understood them, but he would have known. Anthony was sure that he would have known. So, instead of telling him, he had played a rather lame and unrequested knight in a shining armour and had tried to protect him by not talking about it. Also, Anthony had feared his response to the situation would embarrass Aziraphale, but that wasn’t something he was willing to give much thought, because that would have meant he really wanted things to work out between the two of them and that wasn’t something he was ready to accept.

It had been years since Anthony had last dated anyone properly, let alone having some random hookup. It didn’t concern him, it was just how things had turned out.

The only serious relationship he had had was with Fer, a third generation Spaniard he had met at uni. It had been fun and exciting until Anthony’s parents had learned about their relationship. They had said it had nothing to do with Fer being a man, but with Fer being a bad person. That he had corrupted Anthony to the point of turning him into a  _ homosexual _ .

The way his dad had said that word still turned his stomach upside down.

After that, his family had given him an ultimatum. They had insisted that they were doing it for Anthony’s wellbeing.

Anthony had refused to give in and had moved with Fer, who had offered a temporary shelter. However, it had been far too early - or perhaps it just wasn’t meant to be - and a few months later Fer had asked him to find some other place to stay. Anthony had tried to maintain the relationship, and Fer had let him - probably out of pity. After all, it wasn’t easy to accept that he had left his family for a short-term boyfriend.

His train of thought was interrupted by a knock on his door. He welcomed the bellboy and tipped him handsomely. As soon as he had left the room, Anthony gulped down half the bottle of water and then sipped on the coffee, hoping it would make him feel better. He sat on one of the chairs and opened the window. The sun was still rising and the breeze coming in helped a bit with his unrest. He closed his eyes, thinking.

Eventually, Fer and him had split up and Anthony had found himself lonely, no family to turn to and no close friends to ask for advice. He had started dating people he met at bars, on websites or anywhere really, but none of them seemed to click with him and it had made him more miserable than anything. 

So he had thought, why not pay somebody to be my friend? He had later learned that that wasn’t the best reason to start therapy. He had also learned that where the motivation comes from is often irrelevant as long as it helps you do what you need to do.

After many sessions and a lot of work, Anthony had accepted that his family would have cast him out sooner or later, and that he didn’t need a meaningful relationship to make it worth all the pain. This was an important revelation for him, almost a turning point in his life. He started focusing on the joy that a job well done, his plants and his cottage wall on Pinterest brought him - a collection of ideas he had for when he moved to the South Downs, where he would make some extra money from the flowers he would grow in his garden, in a couple of years.

And right when he was looking forward to it, content with his life, Aziraphale shows up and threatens to shake everything up. And, for Satan’s sake1, he would have gladly shared all of this with him hadn’t he blown it all up like the childish sucker he was.

Aziraphale had been right, he had been drunk. And he had been angry. Two terrible reasons to work up the courage to kiss him on the cheek. 

But what a moment that had been. Aziraphale’s curls had tickled his nose and his warmth had reached Anthony, soothing him. He had been close enough to smell his cologne, mixed with the scent of the old barrels and the wine, and even a bit of his musk under all of that. For a second, everything had seemed alright - that’s no small feat.

That’s until the slap in the face that Aziraphale’s words were.

_ You’re drunk _ .

Instead of being hurt, Anthony had felt attacked. Instead of apologising or acknowledging it, he had answered defensively and had refused to take ownership. After that, the night had gone downhill. No friendly conversation, hours almost in silence, speaking only when it had been necessary.

As soon as Anthony had felt sober enough to drive them back, he had. Instead of letting himself be vulnerable and explain everything that had happened, he opted for fueling his own resentment. He clinged to the rage all of it caused him. After all, anger was always easier to manage than pure sadness. It let Anthony believe that he was actually protecting Aziraphale from the pain a homophobic attack - whether directed at you or not - meant.

Anthony started his laptop. He was aware of the amount of emails waiting for him, piled up during the past couple of days. He had to tend to them and there was no time to think about futile love interests after all. 

As he typed, clicked and avoided unpleasant thoughts, the sun fully rose, spent some time on the highest point of the sky and even started its descent back into the sea. At some point in the evening, Anthony’s stomach started complaining.

He called the room service again and asked for a veggie sandwich, no tuna or egg please - what was it with people calling sandwiches containing things that weren’t vegetables  _ veggie sandwiches _ ?

Anthony stretched his long limbs. He felt tense after all that time spent on a very uncomfortable chair. He checked his phone, which he had left on the other side of the room to avoid distractions, but there were no messages or calls. He tapped on the screen and opened a new conversation with Aziraphale. 

Maybe he should call him. Apologise.

He stared at the blinking bar, almost daring him to write something.

Suddenly, the phone started vibrating, making his hand spasm and sending the phone flying a few feet away from him.

“What the-” he said, as he reached for the phone. He saw Aziraphale’s name on the screen and briefly panicked.

“Hello?” a cautious voice said from the other end of the line. “Anthony?”

“Nhg,” Anthony replied eloquently.

“Is this a good time for you?” Aziraphale asked, politely ignoring Anthony’s lack of verbal response.

“Yeah, yes, sure,” he muttered.

“Listen, Anthony, I… I spent the day hoping I would run into you or hear from you. Not that you had to, mind you, but I was worrying,” he paused for a moment. Anthony didn’t make a sound. “I know you had a rough day at work yesterday and I wondered, well, if everything was eventually sorted out? I could tell you were upset.”

There was a silence.

“Yeah, work’s fine,” Anthony eventually replied, shrugging it off.

“I’m glad to hear, dear.”

Anthony’s heart jumped and a pressing voice started to sound in his head, reminding him what an idiot he had been the previous night and what an idiot he was being right now if he didn’t give Aziraphale something to work with.

“Could we meet tomorrow?” Anthony blurted out. “I mean, I would like to talk to you… If you don’t mind, of course.”

“I would love to,” Aziraphale replied, a hint of relief in his voice.

They settled the details and Anthony hung up, sitting on the edge of the bed and silently staring at his phone.

  1. Not being much of a God-related stuff, Anthony had come up with this alternative to the standard for heaven’s sake as a joke about Fer’s name - Lucifer. Refusing to give it up, he had continued to use it, to the point that his work colleagues now used it as well.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much to my betas, @gingerlizzard and @j_a_y_c_e_e_ <3
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it, thank you all for the lovely comments, you're the best <3


	8. Thursday (again)

Once more, Aziraphale mentally replayed the phone conversation he had had with Anthony, looking for any tips that would help him prepare for their rendez-vous. He was already sitting at his usual table, facing the door so he could see Anthony when he arrived. Anthony. That gorgeous, unique, smart and hilarious man… He had a major crush on Anthony, there was no denying it. However, Aziraphale was ready to settle for just a friendship. He knew he would be lucky to have that.

Aziraphale had spent the day before trying to read at the beach, but being entirely unable to. His mind had been somewhere else. At some point, there had been one too many sangrías and he had started typing and deleting text messages meant for Anthony. Thankfully, none of them had seemed good enough.

Not having much else to do, he had returned to the hotel and had talked to Anathema, who had encouraged him to call Anthony. She had promised Aziraphale he would agree to meeting with him and that the reunion would be more than friendly. Shortly after that, and feeling a bit sober but just not enough to chicken out, he had called Anthony. 

Even though Anathema had been right about Anthony accepting Aziraphale’s offer, he was still unsure about how it would turn out. After all, Anthony might be expecting an apology from Aziraphale or, for all he knew, he just wanted to tell him to stay away.

As he waited, Aziraphale played with the napkin sitting on his lap. He looked towards the door, but there was no sign of Anthony yet. Then again, he was fashionably early and Anthony looked like the type that was fashionably late. He sighed and called the waiter to order a cup of that rosé he had tried just yesterday.

“Hello there, Aziraphale,” a soft, deep voice said that the bookshop owner had come to be very familiar with. Aziraphale realised how much he had missed him just as Anthony smirked and sat in front of him. 

“Hello, Anthony.”

The redhead asked for some red wine and waited silently. Aziraphale fiddled with his napkin. The waitress - Rocío, who had had no choice but ship together these two old gays since day one - brought them their drinks. She was smiling. 

“Alright, I can’t take this anymore,” Anthony snapped at some point mid-cup. Aziraphale interrupted his wine sipping, startled. He looked at Anthony, fearing what he was trying to say. “I didn’t mean it that way, I-” he said, reaching out with his hand over the table before closing it and withdrawing. Aziraphale watched the whole process, regretting that he didn’t have the courage to take Anthony’s hand in his own. “I mean,” Anthony gestured between them, “not this,  _ this _ . This, the silence.” He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Oh,” Aziraphale managed to say. He looked at Anthony, who seemed to be annoyed. Rightly so, Aziraphale thought.

“Well?” Anthony said, briefly untangling his arms.

“Well?” Aziraphale repeated, unsure about where the conversation was going.

“You’re the one who called me, I assume you wanted to talk to me?” Anthony replied, in a gentler tone that Aziraphale would have expected.

“Quite right,” he said as he looked for the words he had been practicing. Unfortunately for him, said words had fleeted like the little traitors they were. “You see,” he started, trying to gain a little bit of time to think. “I’ve been thinking. About two nights ago, that is. I assume you rem-”

“I do,” Anthony said, a grimace on his face.

“I realise you had an… unpleasant day at work,” he paused, giving Anthony the opportunity to make any comments about it. He just nodded. “I’m really sorry things went South, but… I’m not quite sure how to put it, and please don’t get me wrong, but…” he continued, still struggling to find the right words. “What I’m trying to say is… if we’re to be friends, we should be able to talk things through and not just disappear. I’ve been worrying about you,” he said, biting his lip and dreading what was coming next. He hadn’t planned on mentioning whether this was a friendship or not, but in the last second he had decided to play it safely. Make it easier for Anthony to make amends with him. Secretly, he hoped for a correction on Anthony’s side, telling him this was beyond a friendship. He also feared a correction from Anthony’s side, telling him this was nothing near a friendship, only a convenient acquaintance that would end as soon as they were both back in London.

“Friends?” Anthony repeated, dragging the final s. “Yeah, friends. Alright,” he said. “Friends who talk things through, sounds good to me.” 

“If you’d like to be friends, of course,” Aziraphale rushed. He realised he had made a mistake, but couldn’t put a finger on why. “I wouldn’t want to assume that you’re interested in…”

“No, no. Friend’s fine,” he said, pursing his lips in an attempt of a smile.

Aziraphale tried to look pleased, even though he felt disappointed and relieved at the same time.

“I’ve got tickets for the theatre,” Anthony said after a while. “We could go. As friends.”

“I would love that,” Aziraphale replied, not missing a beat. It seemed like Anthony was fine with the friendship after all. It hurt Aziraphale, but he smiled. It was better than nothing.

“Good. See you at eight in the lobby,” Anthony said before paying his drink and leaving.

*

“Are you seriously telling me you said you wanted to be friends with him!?” Anathema screamed over the phone.

“It’s probably for the best, Anathema…” he replied, convinced of his own words.

“Aziraphale, I know you’re not keen on this, but listen to me for once. Anthony. Likes.  _ You _ !”

Ignoring what Anathema had said, Aziraphale politely excused himself and started getting ready to meet Anthony. He was already waiting at the reception, wearing an all black outfit. The dark shirt adjusted to his arms just enough to hint lean biceps. On top of it, he was wearing a waistcoat that accentuated his narrow hips. And, of course, impossibly tight black jeans. His sunglasses sat on top of his nose, as usual, and his hair was casually styled to make Aziraphale’s hands ache to touch it. He looked at him respectfully.

“Good evening, Aziraphale,” Anthony said.

*

“Is everything alright there?” Anthony asked.

They were racing down the road, the sea to their right and the setting sun warming the inside of the car just enough for Aziraphale to wish for some air conditioning. He had been quiet for most of the trip, having exchanged some pleasantries. He tightened his grip on the door handle as Anthony changed gears once more, almost brushing Aziraphale’s knee with his pinky finger. Had Aziraphale known how to drive, he would have thought it suspicious how many times Anthony was changing gears.

“Quite alright, thank you,” Aziraphale replied, drying his sweaty palms on his trousers. “You?”

“Quite well, now that you mention it,” Anthony sounded amused. Aziraphale frowned at that, disconcerted, and tried to focus on the road ahead of them. 

The car sped through winding narrow roads, surrounded by pine trees, until they reached a small parking lot. Anthony turned off the car engine but, instead of getting out of the car, he turned to look at Aziraphale. The observed one swallowed, trying to decipher what Anthony’s piercing gaze was the antechamber to.

“Aziraphale,” he said, lowering his sunglasses just enough to look at Aziraphale right in the eye. “you know…” he dragged his words and ran his tongue over his lower lip, as if searching for the right words. Leaning as he was, the shirt opened just enough to let Aziraphale see a bit of his chest hair. He swallowed again and then once more when Anthony placed a hand on his knee. “You do realise that I’m an amazingly skilled driver and there’s no need for that handler gripping, right?” he eventually said, smirking. 

Aziraphale stuttered without saying anything as Anthony got out of the car. He hesitated, wondering if being just friends was going to work.

They were surrounded by pine trees, but Aziraphale could hear the sound of the sea in the distance. Other than that, he had no idea where they could be and he wondered what a place this was to build a theatre. 

Anthony started walking towards the entrance to a very modern building. Aziraphale followed him into a patio and then to the other side of it, where they went downstairs. They entered the building and walked through a room that looked like it was part of a museum. It had infographics and ancient Roman relics exhibited in showcases. Without stopping to admire the art pieces, they headed to a door that led outside.

“Are you sure this is the right way, Anthony?” Aziraphale asked, puzzled by the whole thing.

“Yeah, trust me. C’mon,” he replied. The sun was almost set now, bathing the outside in an orange glow that deepened Anthony’s hair colour. It truly was a sight to behold and Aziraphale took a moment before following him to the exterior.

As he stepped outside, Aziraphale gasped. Before them there were the ruins of what looked like a Roman vast city. Endless columns, the remnants of an aqueduct, mosaics, a temple’s façade and streets upon streets of collapsed buildings. And, just below it, as if the founders had chosen that spot to settle only because of the views, an endless beach of white sand.

“Pretty, right?” Anthony said.

“Stunning might be more accurate, if you ask me,” Aziraphale said, still entranced by the views. “Anthony…” he said after a moment. “As beautiful as this is… Are you sure we’re in the right place?” he asked, still looking at the sight.

“You talk like Romans didn’t know about theatre,” Anthony said before starting to walk again.

Only a moment later, Aziraphale saw it. A semicircular space surrounded by stone stands.

“Is this- is this the theatre?” Aziraphale asked, pointing at it.

Anthony nodded as he led them to their seats.

The theatre was oriented so the background of the stage was the city and, behind it, the sea. The sun was already set but there was still a bit of light. The faint breeze brought the salty scent of the sea to them. Aziraphale inhaled, trying to capture everything about this place. He turned to his left and said, Thank you very much for bringing me here, dear. This is truly unique, thank you.” 

“‘S nothing,” Anthony replied, smirking. He patted Aziraphale’s knee a couple of times before leaving it there momentarily. Aziraphale looked at that hand, casually resting on him. He fought his urge to take it on his own and not let it go. “This is what friends are for, right?”

Anthony’s words snapped Aziraphale out of his fantasies. He scolded himself, feeling a fool for letting himself believe there was something there only because Anthony had  _ amicably _ patted his knee. For one moment, he had believed Anathema when she had insisted Anthony liked him back. When he had mentioned a friendship earlier that day, and knowing how unlikely it was, he had hoped that Anthony would disagree with him and then passionately kiss him.

However, here they were, Anthony reminding him once more how this was nothing else but a nice friendship.

“Right,” Aziraphale eventually said, feeling defeated.

People started to arrive and take their seats, most of them chatting in Spanish. The night fell on them waiting for the play to start, and the temperature lowered to the point that Aziraphale felt comfortable for the first time since he had arrived. Even if he wouldn’t understand anything about the play, he was ready to enjoy the unique venue.

The lights went out and a silky voice started speaking in a mellow Spanish. It sounded distant but it looked like it was approaching the stage. Aziraphale didn’t understand the words, but he could tell the character was trying to convince someone to do something. Another voice, steady and sure, replied. The actors appeared, one of them wearing a black robe and the other one a white one.

“What is this play then again?” Aziraphale whispered, leaning towards Anthony but not tearing his eyes off the stage. Was it him or did the characters look like Anthony and him? Had that been on purpose?

“Uhm… I don’t really know, does it matter?” he replied, turning his head to briefly look at Aziraphale. Then, stuttering, he added, “I- Well, the point is the theatre itself, and it’s not like you were going to understand the play anyway, so… I just bought the tickets, who cares about these amateurs.”

Aziraphale looked at him in disapproval, even if he had a point.

Intermission arrived right after Rastro, the character in black, had found out that Cayo’s home had been set on fire. Rastro had screamed in agony, fearing for his friend’s life. Or something along those lines is what Aziraphale had understood.

“I’m not quite catching up on all the details, but I’m thoroughly enjoying it,” he said.

“Glad to hear,” Anthony said.

“The one wearing black… You know? He reminds me a little bit of you,” Aziraphale mentioned. It was true, and he had been thinking whether Anthony would like that comment or not. Probably not, so it was best to tease him about it.

“Rastro reminds you of me?!” There it was, the reaction Aziraphale had hoped for. Anthony’s voice was high pitched and deeply offended. “Funny, ‘cause Cayo reminds me of  _ you _ .” 

This caught Aziraphale by surprise.

“Me? Whatever have I in common with him?” he replied, now his voice an octave above his normal tone.

“Do you really wanna know?” Anthony asked, now a playful smile on his lips.

“If you would be so kind as to tell me, of course I do,” Aziraphale replied, sitting back on his chair and intently looking at Anthony.

“Okay… Well, let’s see…” Anthony took his time before he continued, “For starters, he really likes food,” he said.

“Many people enjoy eating,” Aziraphale quickly replied.

“Right, okay, what do you say about how he looks at anything he wants but can’t have? Like he really wants to fall into temptation,” Anthony said.

“People are tempted all the time, Anthony. I don’t see what your point is,” Aziraphale persisted, wondering if he had looked at Anthony just like Cayo had looked at that statue of a serpent he couldn’t afford.

“Alright, then. Tell me then what is it about Rastro that reminds you of me,” Anthony said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well, he wears black-”

“Like I’m the only person on Earth wearing black,” Anthony snapped. It seemed to Aziraphale that he was annoyed, but he decided it was best to ignore it and continued.

“He’s lanky, which I know it’s not exclusive to you,” he said before he could be interrupted again. “he stutters a bit but he speaks rather quickly… Also, the way he walks is similar to that of yours. And he is rather handsome, I must add.” Aziraphale paused. Unable to look Anthony in the eye, he turned to the play booklet, trying to find the actor’s name. Hoping his blush wouldn’t be noticeable in the dim light, he added, “I think I’d like to be friends with him.”

Aziraphale bit his tongue and glanced through the booklet.

“Is that so?” Anthony said after a moment. “I have to agree with you, we both are handsome. But I don’t think you’d like to be friends with him.”

Aziraphale stayed silent and continued to pretend that he was reading the booklet. Even if he had understood a word of Spanish, he wouldn’t have been able to read it in the dim light, but he kept playing the part while he wondered what Anthony had meant.

The second act started and eventually finished with the main characters enjoying dinner together. Aziraphale and Anthony applauded with the rest of the audience. They chatted a bit on their way back to the car.

“That was very nice, Anthony,” Aziraphale said.

They were standing in front of the door to his own room and it was time to say good night. Aziraphale fiddled with the key, not wanting to say goodbye just yet.

“‘S nothing really,” he replied.

“I’m just glad we sorted out the… uhm, well, the... disagreement we had.” 

“Yeah.”

“Alright, so… good night,” Aziraphale tried to smile, feeling slightly disappointed. He turned to open the door.

“Aziraphale, listen,” Anthony said, taking Aziraphale by his arm. “I’m… I’m not the type to go on a work trip and meet a… nice man and take him to the theatre, y’know.”

Aziraphale stared at him, fearing where this was going. Was this the moment he had been hoping for the entire day? His hands started to feel sweaty.

“What I’m trying to say here is…” Anthony ran his hands through his hair. “I’m leaving tomorrow.” 

“You’ve mentioned before, yes,” Aziraphale said. He had tried not to think about it, as it felt like their time was running out even if they lived in the same city. It felt like a young summer adventure that was meant to finish as soon as they were back home.

“I suppose I have… Uhm, so, what I was thinking is, maybe you could come to Bell’s new place once it’s open?” he said, making Aziraphale’s heart jump. “Since you were… part of it, in a way.”

“Of course! Very gladly so,” Aziraphale replied just as quickly as if he had been offered dinner at the Ritz. “Just send me a text message when you would like to meet and I’ll be there in a jiffy.” His lips spread in a very pleased smile.

“It’s a date then,” Anthony said, taking Aziraphale by surprise.

“A date?” he heard his own voice tainted by panic.

“That’s what I said,” Anthony replied, arching up an eyebrow as if he was surprised by Aziraphale questioning his choice of words. His eyebrow went down before he said, “unless you’d like it to be something else, of course.”

“Oh, no, no,” Aziraphale replied, gesturing with his hands.

“Right,” Anthony replied. “Good night, angel,” he said before turning to his own room.

“Anthony?” Aziraphale called, unsure about what he was going to say. “Uhm-”

“Yeah?”

“Will I see you tomorrow at breakfast?” Aziraphale asked. Without even realising it, he pouted, desperately wanting Anthony to say yes to that.

Instead of saying anything, Anthony walked back the few steps he had taken, gripped Aziraphale by the hip with his left hand and by the neck with his right and leaned in to kiss him, dissolving Aziraphale’s pouty lip. Aziraphale’s back barged against the door, but he didn’t even notice. The kiss was desperate, it was wet, it was deep and it was longing. Aziraphale let himself go, a thousand thoughts coming to his mind but only one making itself clear: “he’s kissing me, he’s  _ kissing me _ !”. Aziraphale grabbed Anthony’s hips and drew him closer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your support and your comments, they mean everything to me <3
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, it was extra long and extra saucy.
> 
> The setting of this chapter is Baelo Claudia, an ancient Roman city located in front of the Bolonia beach (as a kid, I thought Bolognese sauce and Bologna plan were named after this place, please don't @ me, Italian people). It's a gorgeous place, definitely worth visiting. As in many other Roman theatres in Spain, they have actual plays there during the summer, which I think is utterly brilliant.
> 
> Lastly, thank you to @gingerlizzard for being my beta and encourager. Also, this chapter (and the next one) wasn't beta'd for grammar, so my apologies if there were any mistakes.


	9. Friday (again)

Anthony woke up groaning at the unholy amount of clarity entering the room. A room. Some room. Certainly not  _ his  _ room.

He opened one eye and checked his surroundings, feeling disoriented.

The room looked just like his but the orientation of all the furniture was just wrong. The same furniture, the same pieces of art. Only everything was on the wrong side of the room. He wondered if this is what Alice had felt when she had crossed the mirror. 

Anthony didn’t notice there had been someone taking a shower until he heard the water stop running. 

_ Aziraphale _ .

The memories from the night before were coming slowly at him, but not quickly enough for him to do anything about them before he heard someone talk to him.

“Oh, you’re awake!”

Anthony jolted, getting up just to find Aziraphale standing at the bottom of the bed. He was adjusting his shirt - a baby blue one that enveloped his round belly just beautifully - while having a towel wrapped around his head. Anthony wondered what it would feel like to touch Aziraphale’s wet hair.

“I’d gladly let you sleep a bit more, but you mentioned your flight leaves today. I wouldn’t want you to miss it, dear,” he said, smiling. “You must have been exhausted, poor dear boy. You fell asleep so quickly last night. It was rather endearing,” Aziraphale added, giggling.

All the memories from the previous night came to Anthony only to make him blush.

The events could be summarised in three simple steps:

  1. Kissing
  2. Aziraphale politely inviting him to the room
  3. Anthony immediately falling asleep on the bed



Anthony growled and, much like the full grown up he was, hid under the pillow. He could feel his cheeks burning from embarrassment. How could he fall asleep like that!? Anthony would be mortified for the rest of his life.

“Oh- Nothing to worry about, dear, I didn’t mind. I mean, you looked tired, maybe I should have woken you up but you seemed to be having a very pleasant rest so I-”

Aziraphale’s stuttering attempts at reassurance were torture for Anthony. Lacking other options to stop that source of suffering that made him feel weird inside - almost like there were nasty winged bugs in his stomach - Anthony threw the pillow away and kissed Aziraphale on the lips.

“Good morning, angel,” he said, eventually letting him go from the kiss. “I’m in desperate need for coffee,” he said more as an excuse for his childish behaviour and lack of pizzazz than anything. Anthony got up and realised he was still wearing his clothes. 

“Perhaps I could call room service if you like? They can bring it up in a moment,” Aziraphale suggested. Anthony was still too sleepy to say whether he agreed or not before Aziraphale picked up the phone and placed the order.

They enjoyed breakfast laying on the bed - a cup of black coffee for Anthony and a full English breakfast for Aziraphale because he was starting to feel homesick -, as per Anthony’s suggestion while Aziraphale fret over how easily they could end up making a mess of the bed sheets but not refusing the idea.

It was early but the city was already waking up. The smell of the sea was coming in through the window, mingling with the scent of the coffee and the tea. Everything about it was blissful and Anthony wondered why he hadn’t planned on staying the weekend.

That’s right, because he hadn’t been supposed to find Aziraphale. He was supposed to have hated the place, though.

But now he just wanted to stay there with this man he had met as the result of one random human mistake and do nothing all day. Instead, what he had to do was go to the airport and fly back to London. Life sucked sometimes, to say the least.

“So…” Aziraphale said as he finished the last bite of toast. “What are you… what is it that you’re planning on doing once you’re back in London?” 

Anthony looked at him, puzzled.

“Unpack, I guess… Take a proper shower? Water pressure here is not ideal-”

“And after that?” Aziraphale interrupted him.

“After that?”

“I was… Nevermind,” Aziraphale said.

“No, I- Well, I don’t have anything planned really.” Anthony sensed the caffeine kicking in and commanding him to save the situation. “Actually, now that you mention it… I was looking for someone to go to a new temporary exhibition at the British Museum with, any weekend now.”

“Oh, that sounds like a lovely weekend activity…” Aziraphale replied.

“So…” Anthony said, dragging the ‘o’, wondering whether he should push him a bit or not.

“So…”

They looked at each other for a moment as Anthony pondered whether he should push Aziraphale a bit more. Perhaps he was just being polite when he had asked about his plans. Maybe he didn’t mean anything with it.

That just couldn’t be it, and if it was… Well, he’d be damned. 

“So,” Anthony gave up. “would you like to come with me? I mean, if you like. There’s no date set really, so whenever you’d be available. But before the end of July, that’s when the temporary exhibit ends, I think...”

“Of course! Of course, it would be my pleasure.”

Anthony lingered on Aziraphale’s grin. Those round cheeks, still very kissable and now within reach. He was glowing, he could tell he had made him happy if only by asking him out. Anthony smiled, glad for once Bell had sent him to this lost corner of Europe.

Within a moment, they made plans to go to the South Downs, dine at the Ritz, learn the gavotte - Anthony would ask himself how on Earth he had agreed to that -, try that little sushi place down Aziraphale’s corner and maybe have a picnic. Anthony didn’t want to have his hopes up, but he felt hopeful. They just seemed to work together.

*

The breeze had turned into a strong wind that was ruffling Aziraphale’s curls, making them messier than usual. That same wind, however, was making Anthony’s hair look like it belonged in a shampoo commercial. Aziraphale smiled.

“Right…” Anthony said, fidgeting on his feet.

“Quite right,” Aziraphale replied, wriggling his hands.

“See you soon, then?” Anthony asked.

“Looking forward to it,” Aziraphale replied, smirking. 

They were standing outside the hotel. Anthony had already put his luggage in the trunk of that ancient car and it was time he left for the airport. They were just pushing the departure as much as they could, but it pained Aziraphale that they weren’t making the most of the extra time they were taking. 

Surely, they had had breakfast together and they had agreed to see each other once they were back in London, but nonetheless. Aziraphale just didn’t want to say goodbye and then regret not having kissed Anthony just once more.

Surprising both himself and Anthony, Aziraphale took the matter - also known as Anthony - into his own hands and kissed him. It was soft and brief and it ended in a hug that Aziraphale didn’t want to unfold.

This week had been nothing like he had planned and yet, it felt just right. Had it been up to Aziraphale, the week would have been a couple of days longer, just enough to make the most of Cadiz together. Learn more about the city and get to know Anthony better.

He reminded himself that there would be time to know Anthony, only back in London.

“See you back in the city, angel,” Anthony whispered into his ear. Eventually, he got in the car and slowly drove away. It looked almost as if the car refused to leave Cadiz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you for coming with me and the ineffables in this journey. I can only hope you enjoyed the setting and the food and the culture.
> 
> I would like to thank all of the betas that have helped me finish this story that I started planning in January this year (it took me only 10 months!): @ineffablepotato, @gingerlizzard, @bestomens and @j_a_y_c_e_e_, all of them amazingly helpful.

**Author's Note:**

> ¡Hola!
> 
> First things first, I would like to thank @ineffablepotato, @gingerlizzard and @bestomens (you can find them on Twitter) for their work as beta readers and their support.
> 
> Secondly, I hope you enjoyed this first chapter. I'm planning on posting one every two weeks, so please go ahead and hit subscribe if you'd like to.
> 
> I'm also planning on leaving a few notes at the end of every chapter regarding Cadiz and its amazing culture. For this one, I would like to say that it's in the South of Spain and it's known for its gastronomy (best tuna in the world, lots of fried fish, home of sherry wine), its people's wittiness, the carnival and the incredibly beautiful beaches.


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